


check the grin (you’re in love)

by liliapocalypse



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study-ish, Extremely light angst, Fluff, Getting Together, High School SunaOsa, Idiot pines for 2 years and isn't even aware of it, Love Confessions, M/M, Pinocchio (K-Drama) AU, Pinocchio Syndrome, Pre-Time Skip, Suna Hiccups When He Lies, food as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliapocalypse/pseuds/liliapocalypse
Summary: “I don’t like Osamu.”His heart knew what was happening even before the first hiccup came—from the way it twisted and thundered in his ribcage, its beat spelling out the truth for him as clear as day.It knows. It has always known.Suna hiccups when he lies. So it wasn’t easy when he began having feelings for a certain spiker, or when, in a game of truth of dare, he was asked: So who do you like in the team, Suna?
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 33
Kudos: 241
Collections: SunaOsa





	check the grin (you’re in love)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, here's an impulsive, self-indulgent fic for Suna's birthday! 
> 
> The title is from I Won't Say (I'm In Love) and the "hiccupping when you lie" concept is from the K-Drama Pinocchio (just the concept though; the plot of this fic is completely unrelated to the plot of the drama). 
> 
> P.S.: I did not go deep into the lore of Pinocchio Syndrome because 1) I watched the show as it aired, which means it has been 6 years and I remember absolutely _nothing_ about it [Side note: SIX YEARS?! WTH?] and; 2) I don't think it's that relevant for this word vomit anyway.

“So who do you like in the team, Suna?”

Every muscle tensed in his body, as though preparing for the inevitable. His neck muscles were wound up, throat tight and dry. It was the winding up before the recoil, the bow stretched until the string is taut, the arrow piercing through the rigid air.

Suna has long learned how to school his face to neutrality, it was basically habit by then. And yet across the roaring flames of the bonfire were steel-gray eyes that looked back, steadfast, and something in him wavered.

He looked away and poised the arrow for release.

“Atsumu,” he said.

Suna has been hiccupping for 24 hours since that lie.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Suna is not mean and blunt by default.

Sure, a fraction of his personality really is just… that. But a huge part of it was a compensatory and strategic move to make it in the survival of the fittest. Dog-eat-dog world, right? Eat or be eaten.

And Suna sure did _bite_.

He had long known that he had to put up with lifelong compromises here and there when the world bestowed him the weirdest, most annoying syndrome known to man. Lie and then hiccup indefinitely. Suffer from the hiccups forever until you give in, swallow your pride, and say the truth.

 _Some lies are worth it_ , Suna reassured himself as he ran home under the cloudy night sky, chest heaving and torso shaking with a litany of hiccups he could not quell.

_Bite the need to relieve the hiccups. Keep up the lie._

_Soldier on if it means things will stay the same,_ Suna concluded with as much resolve as a teenage boy who hiccuped all the way home can hold.

* * *

** How Not To Fuck Up When You Have Pinocchio Syndrome **

**1) Only speak when spoken to.**

Suna looked back at his own writing until he locked the phone, slipping it back to his pocket.

Most days Suna thought the list was stupid. After all, Pinocchio Syndrome really only has one rule: Don’t lie. Seems straightforward enough.

But somehow he kept on messing it up.

The first bullet was easy as he walked through the halls of Inarizaki High School in silence, conversations rarely initiated to the new kid in a town who knew everybody.

So Suna basked on the anonymity for a while. He watched from his desk near the back door, strategically chosen for accessibility and efficiency, observing the room through half-lidded eyes. He noted who was most likely to make fun of him had they known about his Pinocchio Syndrome, or who was too blunt and too inquisitive enough to force him to lie or tell a truth he’d rather not share.

Besides, it was hard to socialize when even walking from his dorm to his classroom challenged his energy reserves. Much of his nights were spent shuffling around in his bunk, his body still not quite used to sleeping in the dorms.

He had managed to evade much social interaction apart from questions about schoolwork until a brown-haired boy followed Suna with his stare as he slumped on his corner seat, duffel bag in tow.

The boy, who Suna knew as Miya Osamu from spending the first week of school observing from his corner desk, hovered around Suna all day, and he was not being subtle about it, either. Suna could not figure out if that was intentional or if he just wasn’t capable of subtlety.

The boy used the back door more often than usual and passed by his desk more often than normal. Once, Suna thought he caught the guy looking when he opened his duffel bag.

Osamu finally dropped all pretense when he leaned against the empty desk in front of Suna while Suna was looking at his application form. “Are you joining the volleyball team, too?”

Gray eyes met his when Suna looked up, startled by their stony intensity. The mere sight of it had caught Suna off-guard, letting free a careless, unintentional lie. “No—” _Hic!_ “I mean, yeah, yes.”

Suna winced at how his voice cracked. His trembling fingers fumbled for his tumbler and his head tilted back as he downed half the bottle. The vice grip of his anxious thoughts held his chest, twisting and tugging. He had gotten through the first week of school without hiccupping, and here he was, erasing all progress because of some random boy.

This is one of the things he hated about Pinocchio Syndrome. It did not care for the nuances of human communication or human psychology. It cared not for the versatility of words, watering down statements to true or false. Technically, Suna wasn’t lying: he wasn’t joining the volleyball team; the school—and by extension, the team—scouted him. But did his weird-ass syndrome care? Of course not.

The boy sighed, shifting his stance to sit on the desk. “Thank god there’s another first year because I’m going to lose it if I have to deal with Tsumu alone for the next three years.”

Suna was not able to hide the snicker that escaped his lips, prompting a knowing glance and a raised eyebrow in return. “You know Tsumu? What, ya have a crush on him or something?”

Suna let out an ungraceful snort. “Nah. But it’s kinda hard not to notice the only twin in your whole high school, isn’t it?”

He grinned and shrugged at Suna, showing off a cheeky smile. “I’m Miya Osamu.”

“Yeah, I know,” Suna replied, teasing, a sliver of a smile reflected in his own lips. “Suna Rintarou.”

“Yup,” Osamu began, a finger pointed at the application form, right on top of the kanji of Suna’s name. “I know.”

Rule Number One: Success.

* * *

**2) Don’t talk. Don’t say anything at all.**

Not speaking completely was the surefire way of avoiding the hiccups, but Suna found it impossible to shut up.

Not when the Miya twins have wormed their way into Suna’s high school life.

The twins are one big chaotic mess. Atsumu, all fire, always ran his tongue, which Suna found out the moment he met Atsumu and Atsumu’s first words were “Ya any good at volleyball? Think ya can hit my tosses?”

He didn’t talk then, only shoved his hands inside his gym shorts and walked away. Atsumu stayed real quiet once the coach introduced Suna as a middle blocker Inarizaki scouted from Aichi.

Osamu, on the other hand, was sea-deep, with waves ever soft and serene. At the end of the day, though, he still shared the same DNA as Atsumu as evidenced by the chaos constantly building from deep within him. But the surface can only manage to contain so much until the nasty competitive streak inevitably sticks out like a sore thumb, all reflex and impulse and spite.

Which is to say it was not out of left field, albeit still shocking, when the twins walked down the hall with newly-dyed locks.

Both eyebrows raised and a teasing grin greeted Osamu as he dropped his bag on the seat beside Suna’s before slumping down the seat. The gray hair was fanned out across the table, Osamu’s face planted on its surface. “Not a word, Suna.”

Two months into high school and Suna can no longer count the times he has neglected rule number two. Around Osamu, Suna just wanted to talk and talk and talk.

Suna chuckled lowly and rested his chin on the desk. “Why dye it if you’re going to be ashamed of it?”

Osamu tilted his head, right cheek now smushed against the table. “Just be honest, Suna. Is it okay? Or do I really look like I’m one sneeze away from the casket?”

A tiny snort emanated from his chest. Osamu looked so lost, a stranger’s passing remark seemingly carved into his psyche. Suna reached out his hand to ruffle the dyed hair—just for the fun of messing up the hair that must have taken Osamu so long to style. Instead, Suna froze, fingers carding through the locks slowly instead. Suna was then hit with the sudden realization of how soft Osamu’s hair was, even now that it has gone through several rounds of bleach.

He pulled his hand back, the feeling akin to being burned. “You look fine, Osamu. You chose this color, so you must like it. Who cares what other people think?”

Osamu didn’t speak, only furrowed his brows and pouted his lips ever slightly. A palm shoved and hid Osamu’s face out of view, lips, nose, and eyelashes brushing the lines on Suna’s skin.

If his thoughts skidded to a stop, Suna did not bother to care or mind. It was nothing important to dwell on, anyway.

A month later Osamu walked in on Suna holding a forkful of instant noodles midair, and Suna almost wished it was Kita-san or their captain who caught him instead.

Osamu closed the door with a mortified look in his face, shoving his duffel bag in his locker. “Atsumu is asking for the gym keys. Apparently he had an epiphany for a serve or something.”

Suna set down the cup of noodles and tossed the keys. Once Osamu walked out of the club room and Suna heard the all-too familiar screaming of the twins, he proceeded to inhale the remaining noodles as fast as he can.

Then the club room door opened again, and Suna looked up to see Osamu, poker-faced with his hands on his hips. “Suna, please tell me that’s not yer breakfast.”

Suddenly rule number two rang loud and clear as Suna slurped one last noodle. He remained silent even when Osamu let out an exasperated sigh. “Did’ya at least eat rice before that?”

Suna stood wordlessly and shoved the cup down the bin. He heard Osamu say “I thought so” before the waft of newly-cooked rice hit his nose. Before he could take a look, Osamu was already in front of him stuffing an onigiri in his mouth.

For once, Suna didn’t talk—not because he did not want to say a lie and set off his hiccups but because he truly, absolutely did not know what to say. (Also: the onigiri.)

Here’s the thing: Suna was used to the chaos in his head. He was used to filtering through them carefully, watching every thought with care before they slip past his tongue. Now there’s only silence, and Suna didn’t know what to make of it. Suddenly there were no truths or lies to contain, just a resounding space that demanded his attention.

And that’s what scared him.

Suna was about to slip out the classroom for his daily konbini run when Osamu carried and placed a nearby desk beside Suna’s, setting abento box on Suna’s desk. Still stupefied over the fact that Osamu stayed behind when he would usually eat his lunch at Class 2-2 to badger Atsumu (or so he’d claim; Suna believed the twins just cannot eat alone or without the other), Suna zoned out until Osamu slid the lid of the bento box towards him.

On the desk sat a mirror image of Osamu’s bento box, the mound of rice, seaweed wrap, sausages, egg rolls, and meatballs fairly divided into two, the other half in a messy clump in front of Suna.

“Samu, you don’t have to. Wait—what are you going to use?” Suna had began putting the food back in Osamu’s bento when Osamu lifted the container up and away from Suna’s lingering chopstick. “I’m not eating any of that, so if you don’t eat it, it will only go to waste. Do ya really want that on yer conscience, Suna?”

Osamu only grinned at Suna’s glare. “Also, don’t worry about my chopsticks. It’s coming.”

As if on cue, the back door of the classroom opened with a bang, followed by an equally annoying wailing. “Oy, Samu! It’s been 15 minutes, I’m starving!”

Osamu stood up and carried another nearby desk, forming a huddle of tables around Suna, then placed Atsumu’s bento on the third. “Stop complainin’ and just eat. Also I’m taking this,” Osamu said, grabbing his twin’s chopsticks without waiting for Atsumu’s reply.

The twins then proceeded to fight over the pair of chopsticks, with Osamu bringing up a time when Atsumu broke his metal chopsticks during middle school. A few minutes later, they (very reluctantly) settled on a rhythm of passing the chopsticks back and forth after a few bites.

Meanwhile, Suna still stared dumbfounded at the makeshift bento in front of him, chopsticks lazily moving the food around, when Samu flicked his forehead. “Stop playin’ with the food and just eat.”

Once the grunts and eyerolls settled to a minimum, Suna had eased off his guilt enough to start eating. He was halfway through his share when Atsumu spoke, the syllables muffled by a huge helping of rice and sausage. “I’m surprised yer here, Sunarin. Samu said he can never catch you during lunchtime.”

Suna snapped into attention at that. _He can never catch you during lunchtime._ “This idiot apparently only eats instant noodles and pre-packaged lunches. And your mouth is full, ya pig,” Osamu replied, flicking the chopstick against Atsumu’s lips. Suna grunted before taking another bite of an eggroll, train of thought rerouted to another topic. “I’m a literal _freshman_ living in a _dorm_. What did you expect?”

“That you’d know better because you’re an athlete?” Atsumu uttered while chewing, cheeks still full. “Ya should come over sometime. I don’t think ma won’t mind even if ya eat dinner there every day. If anything, she’d probably be happy to have another taste tester.”

A sly smirk on Osamu’s face caught Suna’s eye. In hindsight, he probably should have just let it go—should have stayed mum and indifferent despite the growing intrigue in his chest—because he wasn’t prepared for Osamu’s answer. “What are you smirking about?”

Gray eyes leveled Suna’s, Osamu’s smirk widening into a full-blown grin. “Nothin’. Just remembered that ya called me Samu.”

For somereason, Suna reflexively anticipated the occurrence of a hiccup, feeling like he was somehow caught in a lie—or maybe an unspoken truth he never intended to reveal.

Suna didn’t reply, and no hiccups came.

Rule number two: Successfully Completed. Well, sort of.

* * *

**3) Say only what you need to say. No more, no less.**

The invitation was not a joke, after all, as Suna found himself in the Miya household every evening since. Mama Miya, in fact, didn’t mind having one more mouth to feed as she held up Suna’s lanky arms and poked Suna’s definitely-not-puffy cheeks. That first night, Suna watched as Osamu wore a faded apron and helped his mother cook an unnecessarily wide selection of dishes for dinner while Atsumu popped here and there, snatching whatever edible thing his fingers could grab.

If anyone thought having a third person with the Miya twins would tone them down, they were absolutely wrong. They began working on their homeworks together before and after dinner, sometimes even roping in Gin. Samu would begin helping his ma in making their bentos every morning, now that Mama Miya has to make three instead of the usual two.

There, in the soft light of the Miya household, Suna realized how much he missed home. He had roommates but they were in a different class, and the morning and afternoon practices gave little to no time for mingling in the dorm, especially now that he stayed with the Miyas until dark. He had shoved his homesickness so deep down he had forgotten about it until the first time Osamu set a steaming bowl of miso soup in front of him, the emptiness quickly giving way to a warmth that was definitely not from the still untouched bowl.

And if the homesickness still managed to linger after a bountiful homecooked dinner, Suna was pretty sure it faded away completely when Osamu offered to walk Suna back to his dorm. “If we found ya dead in the ditch, you’d probably haunt me forever, and I don’t want that on my conscience.” Atsumu was about to leave with them when Mama Miya held him back, pointing towards the dishes he’d been assigned to.

Somehow, Suna found himself balancing several pre-packaged meals in his arms as Osamu dumped another one from the konbini aisles. Suna watched as the line form in between Osamu’s brows, his mouth pouting and muttering as he examined the packages, scanned the labels, sniffed through the plastic, and looked for signs of spoiling.

“Ya have a fridge there, right? And a microwave?” Suna nodded, shifting his arms to accommodate the weight. “Can you really not trust me to buy this on my own? Also, can you grab an ice pop on the freezer?”

Osamu looked at him pointedly, disappointment evident in his face. He fished an ice pop out of the freezer, anyway. “You were eating instant noodles before practice, so no, I don’t. I’m still iffy about these, but it’s better than yer noodles. And you’re eatin’ dinner within us, anyway.”

Suna tensed, a package nearly slipping off. “You don’t have to invite me—”

“No buts, Suna. Ma’s cool with it, so shut it. Besides, I have a few onigiri ideas, and I need someone who’s not biased, even if it’s for or against me.” Osamu grabbed a few of the packages in Suna’s hands and walked towards the counter. Suna followed suit, lining up the meals in front of the bored cashier. “Oh, so that’s the plan. Use me to spare your family from the torture. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Osamu said, flashing a foxy grin, as Suna took the plastic bag from the cashier. They make their way out of the konbini, the chilly autumn air hitting their cheeks. From the entrance, they can see Inarizaki looming over the distance, Suna’s dorm only a few blocks away.

An uncomfortable atmosphere enveloped them both, reminiscent of two teenagers in a Western romcom that often made Suna cringe _and_ _yet here they are_.

“You’re not going to be lost now, right?”

“I literally go to this konbini every day, so yeah, I’m not going to be lost,” Suna deadpanned. Osamu’s giggle made his heart leap up to his throat. It was a foreign feeling, frightening, and in the panic Suna shoved the bag against Osamu. “Jeez, Osamu, go home! Shoo! Good night!”

“I thought I’m Samu now?” Osamu grinned, bright under the crimson foliage, then turned around with a waving hand. “G’night, Rin.”

Suna found himself looking forward to more dinners and more late night konbini visits.

“I won’t play volleyball after high school.”

Suna sat up and stared at Samu as he stopped stretching. The gym floor was cold under his thighs, chilly from the winter air. The silence stretched between them as Samu fiddled with his shoelaces. “You’re not going to ask me anything?”

Suna leaned back, propping himself up with his hands stretched behind him. “No. That’s your choice. Why should I question it?” He stared at Osamu who’s eyes are peeled at the ceiling. “So what do _you_ want to do?”

“Don’t laugh,” Osamu began. Suna made a show of zipping his lips shut. “I… I want to be a chef.”

Suna was not able to reel in the shock that reflected in his face. When amusement crept in shortly after, he could not stop himself from grinning. “Well, you haven’t killed me with your experimental recipes yet, so I think it’s looking good.”

“Do you think so? You don’t think it’s stupid?” Suna pursed his lips as he observed the setter. He has never seen Samu this unsure, this lost, that he’s seeking someone else’s validation and assurance. Suna shook his head in disbelief. “I won’t say this again, but I’ve been eating your dishes for at least two years now, and all I can say is that you are giving your mother a run for her money.”

Samu looked back at him, his gaze unreadable and his eyes hazy, and then sighed deeply. “I’m worried about how he’ll react.”

For the first time, Samu’s gray eyes were stormy, less like a sturdy boulder and more of a raging typhoon. “He’ll think I’m just quitting because I’m so far behind him. Because he’s off in his first All-Japan training camp right now. Because he’s the best high school setter even as a second year.”

Suna watched Samu hang his head lower, eyes now fixed on the ground. “And we’ve talked about going pro all the time. I mean, even _you_ are going pro. Best twins in high school volleyball scene and I’m _quitting_?”

He covered the distance between them and found himself resting both hands on Samu’s cheeks, guiding the latter to look at him.

Usually, at this point, Suna would shut up. Rule number three. There is no point saying more than what is needed to be said, not if he’s running the risk of accidentally saying the wrong thing and setting off a string of hiccups.

But something about Miya Osamu made him want to tell all his truths—not as a coping mechanism or a necessity to spare himself from the involuntary hiccup.

Suna just… wanted to.

He had always hated being vulnerable. Lying elicited a biological reaction he had no control over, carrying its own brand of vulnerability. Saying the truth was something else, like willingly letting someone inside his head. Like cutting himself open and making it open season for everyone to peek in.

Suna still wanted to, though. God, he wanted to say so much more.

“Who gives a fuck about my dreams or Atsumu’s? Just focus on yours.” Gray eyes lightened a smidge, its intensity slowly coming back in full force. “If you think you’ll be happy cooking, then who gives a shit? Your dreams are valid, Samu. Don’t let anyone say otherwise.”

“If this is you bribing me into buying you an ice pop, then stop it, it’s weird.”

Suna scowled, dropping his hands and moving back to a respectable distance from Samu. “I’m not bribing you, dumbass. Also I’m not saying that again. That was a one-time offer.” Samu smiled, and Suna felt two things: relief at the sight of his smile and panic—overwhelming, deafening panic—because his hands cannot seem to forget the line of Samu’s jaw, the feel of Samu’s skin, even long after Suna’s hands left his face.

(Samu still bought him an ice pop on the way home, though.

And how weird—how the Miya household has now become home.)

They said if you were conflicted about something, you can figure out what you truly wanted by flipping a coin. That, as the coin flips mid-air, you’ll find yourself wishing for a certain outcome. When this epiphany happens and the coin hits the ground, the relief or the disappointment will resound deep in your gut, an echo much more telling than the cacophony of metal hitting concrete.

Suna rushed back to his room, the ice pop still lingering in his tongue, as he flung doors open in haste until he was in front of the bathroom mirror. His heart was racing: from the walk home, from the anticipation, the fear of the truth, from gray eyes, and who knows what else.

He was going to flip the coin.

He looked back at his reflection with determination and took a deep breath.

“I don’t like Osamu.”

His heart knew what was happening even before the first hiccup came—from the way it twisted and thundered in his ribcage, its beat spelling out the truth for him as clear as day. It knew. It has always known.

_Hic!_

_Hic!_

Suna gripped the edges of the sink until his knuckles turned white, his body shaking with the relentless onslaught of hiccups that crept in and out of his body.

And yet, despite the raging hiccups, his fingers still burned, the memory of Samu’s cheekbones etched on his fingerprints.

That was the thing about Pinocchio Syndrome. It didn’t care for his fear of _his_ truth, for his neutrality as he set aside questions he didn’t have the courage to answer yet. It didn’t acknowledge the dread or the avoidance or the running away; the moment he said something out loud, it pointed out his truth, regardless if he was ready to hear it or not.

“I like Osamu.”

The silence rang across the stillness of the bathroom, speaking more volumes than the hiccups ever did.

Rule Number Three: Fail. An utmost ridiculous and embarrassing failure.

* * *

**4) Don’t lie. Just… don’t.**

Rule Number Four. The last resort. The final straw.

Suna strongly believed he was doing well after that day. He was still casual as he visited the Miyas every night, as he watched Samu make a new dish just for him to taste. Still chill as Samu handed the third bento on their tiny corner of tables in Class 2-1, knowing that Samu woke up a bit earlier every morning for it. Still calm as Samu shoved pre-packaged meals in Suna’s hands, the ice pop never forgotten on the counter.

He was doing fine, strictly speaking, until the team decided to have a bonfire on a faithful March evening as a goodbye for the third years. Until the third years decided on truth or dare, the bottle pointing at Suna. Until Akagi asked him if he liked someone in the team and Suna knew saying no was pointless. Until he lied and said “Atsumu” and _ran_.

The next day was a walk of shame he didn’t have the strength to face. He avoided the twins, especially Samu, which was hard when they shared the same classroom. When lunch rolled by, Suna was about to dip for the konbini when a classmate handed him a familiar bento box, saying, “Osamu-kun wanted to give this to you.”

Suna ran and finished the bento behind the volleyball gym, hiccupping as he ate.

This was, by far, the longest he had ever held unto a lie.

Halfway through their afternoon classes, more people grew concerned that Suna has been hiccupping for the whole day. He didn’t have the heart to correct them. A teacher even offered to send him to the clinic when the usual water and hold-your-breath trick did not work.

He could have probably held on a bit longer, except the hiccupping didn’t just affect him—it affected _everyone_. During a quiz when a hush fell over the room as everyone focused on their papers, Suna’s hiccups cut through the silence. During their classes when his hiccups interrupted and distracted every single teacher. Last night, when he probably kept his roommates from falling asleep when the intermittent hiccups, and how he barely slept a wink when his body convulsed every other minute and his mind replayed the events during the bonfire.

How his best friend now thought that he had the hots for his twin.

But that wasn’t even the breaking point: the breaking point was the running away. How he flinched when Samu reached out to pat his back, asking him if he was okay. How he missed watching Samu chew his food slowly, savoring every bite and every flavor. Even the thought of missing that day’s dinner with the Miyas _pained_ him in ways his hiccups never could.

Then he thought some more. Thought about how he’d never get to watch Samu skillfully shape his onigiris again if he kept on hiding. How he’d never see that look of anticipation as Samu awaited his feedback for the dish of the day, or the smug grin whenever Suna said it tasted great. How he’d scornfully take an ice pop out of the konbini freezer but still put it down the counter beside the several pre-packaged meals.

He ran away because he feared he ended their friendship by making it weird, ran because he could not bear to face the consequences. But he’d already done the damage by saying his twin’s name last night, hadn’t he? How much more can he fuck up?

Might as well say the truth.

Suna determinedly trekked the familiar road back to the Miya household, hiccups still raging in his chest, when he saw Osamu sitting in the bench in the front of the konbini. _Their_ konbini.

Wordlessly, Suna sat beside him, making sure there is ample space between us, his hiccups filling in the silence.

He took a deep breath and poised his last arrow for release.

“Samu… Atsumu— _hic!—_ Atsumu’s not the one I like.”

Silence. His mouth made no noise after nearly 24 hours of constant hiccupping. Suna would have been relieved had it not been quickly replaced by dread over something else entirely.

Samu looked up, nodding once, though his face didn’t give any recognition that the admission was of any surprise.

“You don’t have anything to say about that?” Samu’s shoulders shrugged, nonchalant, as he stretched his feet out in front of him. “Kinda figured that out already.”

Suna’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to quell the rising panic in his gut. “How?”

Samu only chuckled, gray eyes looking back at him for the first time today. “Ya really think I won’t notice? I spent almost every day of the past two years with ya.”

“Notice what?”

Samu grinned, tapping his index finger on Suna’s nose. “Ya hiccup when ya lie, don’t ya? Last night was a dead giveaway.”

Suna scrunched his nose and moved away from Samu’s touch, his hand swatting Samu’s arm. Instead of retreating, though, Samu held his wrist, fingers crawling down until they found the spaces in between Suna’s fingers and staked their claim on them.

_He knows. Samu knows._

And somehow that made it easier. Better.

Somehow that made it alright.

_Huh. I didn’t have to run after all._

“Who is it, then?” The lilt of Samu’s voice was still evident even in a hushed tone, as though his joy was so insurmountable it could not even be contained by a whisper. “Is it Oomimi-san? Is this a middle blocker thing? Aran-kun? Or maybe Kita-san? Holy shit, please don’t tell me ya also had a crush on our captain.”

Suna scoffed at the thought. “Do not lump me with your idiot twin.” Samu silently lifted their intertwined hands to rest on his lap, squeezing once, then twice. “Besides, he’s too serious for me.”

“Not into older men, then— _ow,_ stop hittin’ me. Is it the first year? Or Gin? Oh, god, it’s Gin, isn’t it? Did ya fall for his stupid pick-up lines? Please tell me that’s not true because most of them are lame as hell and I _will_ be judging you.”

Suna kept his mouth shut in accordance to rule number two. Samu’s grin only grew. “Yer really not going to say it? After hiccupping for a day?”

Samu lifted their hands and pressed his lips against Suna’s knuckles. “I like you, Rintarou.”

If Samu was expecting a massive reaction, Suna raising an eyebrow probably wasn’t it. “Why are you like this, Rin, I swear yer going to kill me someday.”

Suna did not waver in his stare. “Are you just saying that out of pity? Because fuck, Samu, that’s low, even for you.”

The lines in between Samu’s eyebrows deepened with his frustration. “No, idiot, I actually do!”

“How?!”

“What do you mean, how? I literally cooked for you every day for the past two years!”

Suna’s breaths turned shallow. Suddenly he’s aware of Samu’s thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand. “You like me.” Not a question. Not a lie. Not if the smile on Samu’s face was any indication. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”

Suna dropped years of experience on overthinking everything and surged forward, hands settling on Samu’s cheeks as though it was always supposed to be there, lips meeting lips.

Samu tasted like onigiri—salty like seaweed and soft like rice as Suna pressed himself closer, tilting his head and deepening the kiss, savoring every movement. Samu was home grabbing him by the waist, smiling against his lips as if saying _about time, Rintarou_.

When Suna moved away, Samu’s gray eyes twinkled against the sunset. “Ya haven’t even said it out loud and now yer kissin’ me? Awfully bold of ya, Rintarou.”

Suna absentmindedly traced Samu’s cheek with his thumb. “You knew. Why didn’t you say anything then?”

Samu’s fingers crept up and held the hand that was still on his cheek. “I didn’t want to impose. It looked like you needed space. And time.” The grasp tightened, assuring and certain, like his hands during that winter afternoon in the gym. “Ya ready now?”

Suna nodded, cradling Samu’s face. “I like you, Samu.” Suna watched every part of Samu’s face light up with each syllable. Suna wished he could say so much more than those four words, knowing that they could never give justice to the swell of emotions in his chest.

Then he realized he could—he could say them. Out loud. Unfiltered. With no fear, no strategy, no rules.

Rule Number Four? An unmitigated disaster. The biggest lie in his life.

Only there’s no lies this time. Suna doesn’t need them anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first SunaOsa fic, so any feedback is greatly appreciated! (Also if they come off as OOC, this is probably why.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/liliapocalypse), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/liliapocalypse), and [Tumblr](https://liliapocalypse.tumblr.com/) (it's liliapocalypse on all platforms).
> 
> Come yell at or with me on my [fic graphic](https://twitter.com/liliapocalypse/status/1353735393603063808?s=20) if that’s your thing!


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